To Catch A Faerie
by WarriorElf
Summary: Humor. Vignette. I did this for English class, but it's a lot more of a story than a report. It's based on the Book 'Faerie Wars' by Herbie Brennan, and I posted here owing to the lack of such a section. Enjoy. Or try to.


**A Human Took My Lunch**

_And other Musings on life and the human race. Inspired by Faerie Wars, by Herbie Brennan. Since there was no Faerie Wars section, I figured this would have to do. This was a book report for English. I do not own Hodge, Henry, Mr. Foggarty, or the scene. I simply retold the scene from the Cat's point of view. Everything else is mine, except Henry's only line.  
_

_My name is Hodge. I'm a tomcat, and I'm proud of it._

_This bit of paper you gave me says you want to know my_

_role in this story. Naturally, I'm the lead. The star._

_The main character. Alright, so I'm really not. I'm_

_just a misunderstood cat that gets rotten food and_

_ego-abuse. Comic relief, I ask you. Couldn't I at_

_least have had that? No, I guess not. It's always the_

_same. Cats are the hated, the enemy, the minority._

_Look what happened to Ms. Norris! She was a dem fine_

_cat, m'am, a dem fine cat. Now look at her. It's the_

_reputation black cats spread. All that witch hunting_

_does that to people. At least Solembum landed himself_

_a decent role. Obviously, in America, cats get more_

_respect, despite their witch hunts. America had to_

_have something good going for it I guess, it hasn't_

_got much else to brag about. But enough jaw, you_

_obviously want to read more of my wonderful_

_adventures. I mean, who wouldn't?_

It obviously wasn't a butterfly. Butterflies don't

walk, or even lurch drunkenly, which was more like

this creature was doing. Reminded me of the drunk down

the road. The walk, I mean. In no way did this thing

remind me of the drunk in any other way. If it did,

I'd be in America right now. That's how...weird the

guy down the road is. I'd rather face America.

The creature was walking upright, using only two of

its four legs. I'd never seen a butterfly with less

than five legs, and that one had been dead. I was the

cause of its death, as a matter of fact. But I wasn't

going to begrudge this little snack that had wandered

helplessly and obliviously into my path. I had a

reputation to uphold. What would the garden animals

say if they heard Hodge was going soft? Cats have

social pride too. And Mr. Foggarty counted on me to

scare all the aliens away. Mice were just an added

bonus.

Tail twitching, I crouched, a tightly coiled spring

straining to be released. I pounced. Perfect. I

snagged the eensy butterfly-that-wasn't in my mouth.

It squirmed frantically. Strongest bloody butterfly

I'd ever caught. My reasoning had been correct (as

always), it wasn't a butterfly. I bit down harder, and

it stilled immediately. It was smart, too. Pity I

couldn't keep it; it would make a nice pet. But then

my reputation would be all rot. Tail erect, I stalked

out of the bushes and fairly tripped over that boy

that lurks around here. Henry, I think his name is. I

like Henry. He feeds me good food. Not as good as

mice, but good enough as canned food comes.

Proudly, I flaunted my catch, awaiting the usual

comment on my speed, agility, and strength. Henry

usually has a kind word to send my way. I never let it

go to my head, obviously. But cats are people too!

Okay, not really. But we have feelings, and we want to

be congratulated as much as any person. The compliment

never came. Instead, the boy looked hard at my snack.

His eyes bulged out of his head so far I feared they'd

pop out. He looked positively ill. I would have said

something, but my snack wasn't as docile as I would

have liked, and all he would have heard was meowing.

Of course, no self respecting cat would ever be caught

dead 'meowing.' We talk too. We have different

dialects, even. Bet you never heard a cat with an

English accent. Bet you never even heard a cat with a—

"Hodge, you idiot!" he shrieked. I hadn't expected

that. (Notice how I was in the middle of a thought.)

Someone had clearly woken up on the wrong side of the

mouse hole. Notice the pointed glare in a certain

human's direction. What he did next however, I would

never, ever forgive him for, even if he awoke wedged

in a mouse hole with a mouse trap dangling off his

nose.

He threw himself on me (me!), grabbed me by the scruff

of the neck, and picked me up. I yowled. Actually, I

cursed quite colorfully, but all he heard was a yowl.

I dropped the butterfly thing. Henry dropped me.

I landed on my feet with no more than a bruised

dignity. The boy had already scooped up the creature,

as if afraid I would go after it again. I hadn't even

speculated about considering about thinking of letting

such a thought cross my mind. Honest. I sent the boy a

venomous look, but he failed to notice. I strutted a

few paces away to sulk. Henry still paid me no mind. I

returned the favor.

I settled myself carefully and began to groom. I was

the perfect model of listlessness and disregard. But I

was listening. I wanted to know what was so important

that I loose my snack over it. Of course it was

probably a matter of either politics or of some silly

human hobby. Either way it was utter rot. (Note: It

turned out later that it_ was_ a matter of politics.

None of us new it at the beginning though.)

Henry had clearly cracked. All the lurking around Mr.

Foggarty would do that to you. Spend enough time with

that old coot, and you'd not only crack, but break full

in half, spill your mind on the floor, roll it in the

mud, toss it down a hill, drag it through the gutter,

and rub it in paranoia. Clearly, Henry was suffering

from my master's _delightful_ influence. The boy was

_talking_ to that thing. Next, he'd been talking to my

Kibbles. Then, he'd be seeing alien invasions at ever

turn, and call these nonexistent phenomenon 'demon

shenanigans.'

I didn't like that at all. First, he took my

butterfly. Now he'd take my Kibbles for sure, then my

mice! Then, he'd probably up and leave, abandoning me

to Mr. Foggarty, who feeds me something...but it isn't

food! (Probably demon guts from those nonexistent

kidnappings.) What about my dignity? And my delicate

digestive system? Huh! Humans, they're all the same.

Well, all _English_ humans anyways. American humans are

just plain _weird._

_I knew it wasn't a butterfly. I was right. It was a fairy._..


End file.
